


From Out of Town

by RenkonNairu



Series: One Sky Continuity [5]
Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Additional Warnings to Be Added, Case Fic, Chinese Language, Extortion, Future Fic, Gen, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Protection Racket, There will be Warnings, Triad - Freeform, chinese mafia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkonNairu/pseuds/RenkonNairu
Summary: Warren is still stuck on his last case even though the investigation went cold. But a gang war lands in his lap one night after leaving work and forces him to put old matters aside in favor of keeping the peace, and Warren has to choose between the devil he knows, and this new gang from out of town.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Warren Peace & Original Character(s)
Series: One Sky Continuity [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1306427
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	1. Still Stuck On the Last Case

“Hardwin? Hardwin Battle?” Phoenix trudged through the woods, calling the name of his paternal grandfather. Holding a raw cow heart in his hands. “I have some delicious, uh, meat for you! Fresh from the artisanal butcher shop Dad liked! Hardwin?”

There was no answer from the woods. 

Even the mountain breeze rustling the leaves of the trees seemed quieter. Less whispering and more just a lack-luster shuffling of branches. 

Next to him, his mother yawned. Flamebird was retired as a superhero. She did not put on the costume every night and go out to fight the good fight. She didn’t care about the Good Fight anymore. But she could fly, and her son could not. Phoenix needed a lift up to the woods above Bedlam, and he did not want to ask the Lieutenant because that would also involve telling the other man why. He was not yet ready to explain to his best friend, that his paternal grandfather was an un-dead, heart-eating monster, that killed countless animals, and at least four innocent civilians that they knew of. 

Flamebird, however, already knew about the Battle family powers. She was married to Barron Battle, lived with him, got to see his powers of instant healing and resurrection from death first hand. She knew that after a resurrection, or a lot of healing, or even if they were just exceptionally tired and run-down, their bodies made them crave flesh. Dense, muscled flesh. No marbling or fatty tissue. Strong muscle full of life. There was no stronger muscle than the heart. The engine of life. After reviving from a death, they craved hearts. Barron usually ate cow hearts from an artisanal butcher in Maxville. Flamebird knew this, understood this, and was comfortable with this. 

Comfortable enough that it wasn’t even her main concern. “So, this is your big plan to find him.” She commented with that tone mothers used that conveyed a judgment without actually having to say a judgment. “Just wandering through the woods aimlessly, carrying a raw cow heart, and shouting his name.”

“Dad never taught me how to hunt or track, so what else am I supposed to do?” He countered. 

“Are you still working with the Bedlam Sherriff?” Flamebird asked. “Has he told you about any new deaths –animal or otherwise- that resemble his killings?”

No. In fact, Sherriff Law thanked him because all killings seemed to have mysteriously stopped not long after he sent the case file to Phoenix and the Lieutenant. Law just assumed the superheroes took care of it. 

Maybe Phoenix crossing paths with Hardwin Battle that night did somehow fix things. If the killings had stopped. But that wasn’t the impression Phoenix got from their meeting. Hardwin Battle was more animal than man. Hungry, lashing out to attack when he felt cornered, and trying to escape the first opportunity he got. When Phoenix caught up with him alone in the caves, Hardwin had only an animal’s recognition of him. Scenting his wound and realizing he was herd, family, the offspring of his offspring. 

But then the Lieutenant and Persephone caught up with them and Hardwin fled back into the shadows while Phoenix was distracted. 

He hadn’t been seen or heard from since, and not knowing what happened to him, and finding no sign of him, somehow felt worse than finding the bodies of creatures and people he’d killed. At least when they were finding the remains of his prey, Phoenix knew it was him. Knew what was happening and why. But Hardwin disappearing without a trace, that filled Phoenix with a level of dread he was not expecting. 

“Sherriff Law has no new news.” Phoenix finally answered his mother, teeth gritted in frustration. 

“You know what they say: no news is good news.” Flamebird reminded him. “Besides, didn’t your father tell you to leave it alone? He doesn’t want you going after Hardwin. If he does resurface, let another hero deal with him. He’s not your responsibility.”

“He’s my grandfather!” He reminded her. 

“Only genetically.” Flamebird was not impressed. She never met Hardwin Battle in her life. He was already ‘dead’ by the time she met Barron. But she saw the scars Hardwin had left on her husband. Not physical scars, one of the nice things about the Battle family power of instant healing was that they never scarred, Barron’s physical body was the picture of perfection. But there was no miraculous superpower for healing emotional scars, and Hardwin gave Barron enough to keep a team of psychologist busy for more than one –natural- human lifetime. “Hardwin Battle is not your personal responsibility. Your father knows how you were trained and what your powers are, he knows what you’re capable of and what you can and cannot handle. He also knows his own father and what he’s capable of. If Barron told you to stay away from Hardwin, then you should really stay away from Hardwin.” 

Phoenix scoffed. “If that’s how you feel, why’d you fly me up here?”

Flamebird frowned back. A very particular frown she usually only reserved for her disapproval of his friends –namely Will Stronghold. “Because, I know if I didn’t come with you, you’d just find a way to come up here on your own. Or worse, you’d get the Lieutenant to fly you.”

In her mind, him partnering up with the son of the Commander was worse than him traipsing around the woods alone. 

“You know, Mom, the Lieutenant and the others are the first friends I’ve had since Dad was arrested.” He reminded her. “I’d really appreciate it if you at least tried to like them.”

Pursing her lips, Flamebird was a long time in answering. It was impossible to read her eyes behind her mask when she finally did speak again. “I like that you do have friends again. It’s been a long time. I don’t like them, but I do like the idea of them. And I like that you’re happy.”

It was the best concession Phoenix was going to get on the subject of his friends. Specifically, his friendship with the son of the man to took his father away from them. Flamebird might never like his friends, or the fact that his best friend was the son of the Commander. But she did like that her son had friends again. She did like that those friends did appear to honestly care about and support him. And she liked that he was happy. It was not her ideal, but it was also not her choice. 

Instead, she changed the subject. “We need to get you a car.”

Phoenix just laughed. A short clip of a laugh that sounded more like he was scoffing. “With what money?”

“Your father left you a very generous trust fund.” Flamebird reminded him. 

He snorted with derision. “Yeah. And I’ve already spent a third of it on school.” Phoenix was attending his second year of culinary school. “When Dad set up that trust fund for me, I don’t think he quite realized how expensive school was going to get.”

And –if economists were to be believed- it would get even more expensive before he was done. Ethan was already having to apply for financial aid to pay for his education, and he was only in his first year! (Of course, Ethan was studying a scholarly subject, while Phoenix was learning a trade.) Phoenix hoped the money his father left him would last just long enough that he could finish culinary school before having to take out a student loan. 

Flamebird pursed her lips. Before her husband was arrested and put in jail, she enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle paid for by the generous income of her husband’s supervillain work. After Barron Battle was convicted, that revenue stream dried up and Flamebird had to go back to a lifestyle that could be afforded for a household on a single middle-income. 

“I’m only two years away from paying off the house.” She reminded her son. ‘The house’ was the house they currently lived in, which she had purchased ten years ago when Phoenix was nine. It still would not be completely paid off and owned by her for another two years, when Phoenix would be twenty-one. “After the house is paid off, I’m gonna start saving again to get you a car.”

“Motorcycle would be cheaper.” He suggested.

“They’re also not as safe.” Flamebird reminded him. 

Phoenix gave a self-deprecating laugh and threw his arms up in mock dismay. The hand that was still holding the raw cow heart sprinkling blood all over the underbrush. “What’s it gonna do? Kill me! Oh, well. Guess I’ll die.”

While Phoenix’s main superpower was pyrokinesis, the ability to create and control fire, which he inherited from his mother, he did also have a second power. One inherited from his father’s side of the family. He couldn’t heal instantly. His body still scarred. He couldn’t cleanse his bloodstream of poisons and toxins. But he could revive. After he was killed. Phoenix could come back from the dead. Just like Barron Battle. Just like Hardwin Battle. Phoenix could die, but death was not a permanent state for him. Something they discovered last year when he was stabbed through the heart by a supervillain.

“Don’t make jokes like that.” Flamebird told him. “You know I don’t like jokes like that.”

“Oh, c’mon, Mom. It’s no big deal.” Phoenix did not quite seem to grasp his mother’s objection to her only child joking about his own death (or deaths).

“Maybe not to you!” She shot back. “You aren’t a parent. You didn’t have to watch your only baby bleed out on the floor! You didn’t try to cauterize the wound only to have nothing happen because fire-wielders don’t burn! I held your wrist and felt your pulse stop, Warren!” It was a true testament to just how distraught she –still- was over this for her to use his real name while in costume. “I watched you die! No mother should ever have to see that! I swear, you and your father both! It’s like death is just a big joke to you! And maybe it is. To you. It’s not permanent for you! But that doesn’t change the fact that it is disturbing for everyone else around you!” 

Phoenx opened his mouth to argue. Thought better about whatever it was he was about to say. Closed it again. Now it was his turn to change the subject. 

Turning his attention back to the woods surrounding them. Holding the raw heart out in front of him. Phoenix resumed shouting. “Hardwin! Hardwin Battle!”

Next to him, Flamebird sighed. “You need a new case. Something different to distract you from this.”


	2. An Incident at the Paper Lantern

Warren specifically chose a time when his mom was at work –her day job, not hero work, she was retired as a superhero- to invite his friends over and have them help him look through the attic. 

Their house in Maxville Adjacent was small and didn’t offer much in the way of closet space and storage. But, Mara refused to throw away, or donate, or surrender Baron Battle’s old things. There were trunks, and cases, and boxes upon boxes of his father’s things shoved up into the attic. Since it was his grandfather, his father’s father, that lurked in the woods around what would be their hero base, Warren thought that looking through his Dad’s old things might give him some clues. And, since the base was going to be a shared base between all of them, Warren felt the others should help. 

He didn’t have to let them know that the monster in the woods around his father old house –what everyone else had taken to called the Murder Cabin- was his paternal grandfather. 

“We’re just looking for something that might give us a better idea of how to find the thing.” Warren told them as he pulled down the panel in the ceiling. The ladder attached to the panel slid down at his feet accompanied by a cloud of dust. 

“Right. Right.” Nodded Magenta. “We’re just gonna keep this strictly business and not pry into Daddy-Battle’s personal stuff at all.” 

She was totally gonna snoop. Warren almost never talked about his father. When other people discussed the man around him, he got pissy and yelled for them to stop. But they all already met Barron Battle. A year ago. They had a face, and a personality, and mannerisms to put to the name. The thing was, the man they met last year during his impromptu escape did not match up with the ‘avatar of evil’ everyone depicted him as in school. Yeah, he was a bit violent and took a casual, almost flippant attitude to killing. He was definitely a villain. No one was questioning that. But he was also kinda funny in a weird way. Teasing the Commander. Flirting with Flamebird. He even gave a few helpful words of wisdom to the team. In short, he was a dorky dad. 

A dorky dad that was also a supervillain. It was hard not to be curious about him. 

“We’re just looking for stuff about the cabin.” Warren insisted. 

He climbed the ladder and disappeared into the attic. 

It was a cramped space. The floor high and the ceiling low. Warren had to bend on his hands and knees to move around. Even Ethan, the shortest member of their groups, had to crouch to move around in the short space. The only one who had any kind of ease moving around was Will, who just hovered around in an almost-plank position. 

In addition to being cramped, the attic was also a mess. Mara Peace was fastidiously organized when it came to her books. She was a librarian by profession. But with everything else in her life, the storage of her estranged husband’s things most of all, she was not quite so disciplined. The terms ‘sloppy’, ‘hot mess’, and ‘heaps’ came to mind. 

Some of the boxes were labeled, most were not. The ones that were labeled, their labels did not actually correspond to what was in the box. Magenta opened one such box that had ‘dishes’ written across it in magic marker, but inside were multiple red or black leather-bound photo albums. She pulled one out, curious. 

“Carful with those.” Warren warned her. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna damage your old photos.” She assured him. 

“No, I mean- uh…” His face flushed a shade of red they usually only saw when his mother was embarrassing him. “Black bound ones are wholesome family memories, safe for all ages. The red bound ones are, um… Mom and Dad’s private collection and I’m not allowed to look at them.”

The one Magenta was holding in her hands was a red-bound one. She pursed her lips. Unsure of if she wanted to look inside or not. She was curious. But –judging by Warren’s face- she also knew she would regret it. In the end, her curiosity overrode her sense and she lifted the cover, just taking a peek at the first page. 

“Oh.” She was equal parts relived and disappointed. “It’s just you’re Mom’s old Flamebird pin-ups. That’s not so bad.”

She held the book up so that everyone could see a magazine clipping from ‘Costumes Today’, February 1987. It was a full body photo of Mara Peace in her Flamebird costume, posing with her back to the camera, the shorts of her costume riding up her backside and exposing the round bottoms of her butt cheeks, her back was arched to make her butt stick out more, and her head was turned so she could smile at the camera. 

“No offence, Warren, but we’ve all already seen your Mom’s pin-ups. They’re kinda all over the city. Nobody cares by this point.” Magenta turned to the next page. Then her expression changed. Going as red as he was. “Oh.” Her mouth fell open. “That’s, uh… that’s… more of your parents than I wanted to see. Your Mom’s got more tattoos than I thought.”

Zach looked up from the trunk he was about to open. The lid falling shut again with a soft THUD. He moved around to peer over Magenta’s shoulder. 

“Okay, stop!” 

The book in Magenta’s hands burst into flames. 

She dropped it and scooted away. She was unburned and unharmed. Magenta looked back at Warren. One hand was extended out, aimed at the album. Nobody ever even saw him throw a fireball. He just glared at it and it got hot enough to ignite. It was a new trick her was working on with his powers, creating fire without having to start it on his body first. 

“That is not what I brought you up here to look at.” He informed the room. 

Will hovered over to the box. “But you said the black ones were clean, right?”

He reached in and pulled out the first black-bound photo album his hand touched. Someone had stamped ‘School Year 1998-99 into the cover in silver letters. Barron Battle was arrested and sentenced to prison in 1999, Will realized he might be holding some of Warren’s last positive memories of his father. He flipped the album open to a random page. 

“Aw… little Warren!” He cooed. “Wait, are you wearing a uniform? Your elementary school had uniforms!?”

“Yeah.” Confirmed the pyrokinetic not quite understanding why his friend was surprised. Didn’t everyone’s elementary school require uniforms? 

“Lemme see.” Ethan straightened, trying to get a look at the page Will was holding. 

Will angled the album so that everyone could see. 

It was a photo of three boys, all wearing the same school uniform. A navy-blue blazer over gray slacks, white collared shirts and striped ties. The one that had to be Warren –even back then, his hair was long and it already had those two streaks of red in it- was on the right side of the frame, leaning into the boy in the center whom was holding something that looked like a Gameboy Pocket. The one on the left side of the frame was also leaning in, and all three of them were holding Pokemon backpacks. The one in the middle, a Squirtle. The one on the left, a Bulbasour. And Warren, unsurprisingly, a Charmander. 

Ethan leaned back, fighting a wholesome smile. “There’s a lot to unpack in this photo.”

Warren had friends before them. Warren wore a school uniform and it looked neat, not a single part of the pants ripped, the blazer was polyester not leather, and the shirt was collared not a tee. Warren played Pokemon! 

“Wait, is that the crest of Wātis Academy?” Asked Zach. “That’s, like, the most expensive school in Maxville. Only, like, the super-duper-uber rich can afford to send their kids there. It’s a school for foreign Princes, and or people who own gold mines, or the guy who invented Apple!”

Warren visibly cringed. “My Dad did make a lot of money as a supervillain.”

“So,” began Magenta, “ignoring the adorable Pokemon backpacks –which we will be coming back to, by the way- you are literally rubbing elbows with two of the richest kids in Maxville.” She announced. Taking the photo out of its protective sleeve, she moved closer to Warren. “Who’s this?”

“That’s Amir.” He said, pointing the boy in the center holding the Gameboy. “I think his last name was El-Hashem. His dad did… something.” He only had a child’s memory of his friend’s parents. But they all lived in nice homes. So did he back then. He moved his finger to the boy on the left. “And that’s Sid, it was short for Sidao. He and I were in the same Mandarin class. He lived with his grandmother who was some kind of business woman. She always had lots of guys in suits around whenever we would go over to Sid’s house. I’m not sure if he had parents.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” Magenta nodded, more interested than Warren felt she should be. “Okay, so, first shocker, you had friends before us. But, not quite so shocking, one of those friends appears to be an Arab prince, and the other is the grandson of an old woman who ran a business out of her own home and made enough money to send her grandson to the same school as you, the son of a supervillain.” 

Warren glared at her. Her tone sounded like she was implying something, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was she was implying. 

Ethan pulled out his phone. “Okay, so, I Googled the name Amir El-Hashem and there is an Amir El-Hashem who’s our age, and has dual citizenship to both the United States and Saudi Arabia. He is the third son of a family that owns half the oil refineries out there.”

“Saudi Arabian oil baron, got it.” Nodded Magenta. “Okay, now do the other one. Sid- Sidao. Hey, what’s his last name?”

Warren frowned. He did not like them looking up his childhood friends on Google. It also made him wonder what kind so things could be found about him –searching the name Warren Battle, not Warren Peace- on a casual Google search. His father’s trial had been a media circus. 

“Sidao seems to be a common name in Chinese.” Ethan announced. “I’m gonna need a surname if I’m gonna find anything on him.”

Warren glared at all of them. “I have not seen or spoken to either of them since Mom took me out of that school after Dad’s trial.” He informed the room. “And that is not what I brought you all up here to look at. I need info on the monster in the woods around my Dad’s old house. Or do you not want to have a shared base up there anymore? Now can we please get back to work, and stop asking me about Song Sidao!”

“Song Sidao!” Ethan nodded. “Last name first, got it!” His thumbs raced across the keypad to type the name into his Google search. “Oh.” He looked up. “Well, it makes sense that his grandma would send him to the same school that a supervillain sends his kid to.”

Now Warren was concerned, and he could not help looking up again. “What, why?”

“Well,” began Ethan, “I mean… I did say that Sidao is a common Chinese name, but… the first hit I got on the name is for a guy –who is our age- that’s an underboss in the Song Triad. The Chinese Mafia.”

Magenta grinned wider. “So, the son of a supervillain, an oil baron, and a mafia prince.”

“I’m sure it’s not the same Song Sidao.” Warren insisted. 

…

Setting his bucket of dishes down next to the sink, Warren heaved a heavy sigh. “Wǒ yǐwéi zuìhòu yī zhāng zhuōzi yǒngyuǎn bù huì líkāi.” (I thought that last table would never leave.)

“Shì de!” (Right!) Commented Su Xinyi, Warren’s boss. She looked up from her accounting books to comment. “Tāmen huāle jiāngjìn yīgè xiǎoshí de shíjiān. Wǒ yǐjīng guānménle. Tāmen zài xīngqíwǔ wǎnshàng méiyǒu dìfāng kěyǐ qù ma?” (They paid almost an hour ago. I already shut down the till. Don’t they have somewhere to go on a Friday night?)

“Zhèxiē tiān háizimen bù chūqù.” (Kids these days don’t go out.) Called Xinyi’s husband from the kitchen where he was scraping off rice stuck to the inside of the cooker. “Tāmen jiāng suǒyǒu shíjiān dōu huā zài shǒujī huò hùliánwǎng shàng.” (They just spend all their time on their phones or on the interwebs.) 

“Hēi, zhèxiē tiān wǒ háishì gè háizi.” (Hey, I’m still a ‘kids these days’.) Warren reminded them. He was only twenty, still not even old enough to drink. Sure, he was an adult now, but he was still young enough to have more in common with the average high schooler than the average working adult. 

Xinyi only. An affectionate laugh, but at his expense all the same. “Méimén. Warren chūshēng yú liùshí suì, fènshìjísú, zǔmǔ.” (Yeah right. Warren was born a cynical sixty-year-old grandmother.) 

Warren had no idea what to say to that, so he said nothing and began washing the pile of dishes he collected from the last table. Xinyi’s husband finished scrapping the rice cooker, took out the inner pot, and set that down next to the sink for Warren to wash too. 

It was a pretty average night at the Paper Lantern. 

Until Chris, the server for the night, came in early from her smoke break. Her cigarette still in her hand, lit, but not smoked. “Aunty,” she said in English, “the insurance guys are here.”

Warren looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall, confused. It was way too late for an insurance adjuster to be coming to assess a claim. 

“Warren, nǐ wèishéme bù zǎo huí jiā.” (Why don’t you go home early.) Xinyi suggested. She never let him go early. Not unless he had a ‘personal emergency’ (a superhero emergency) and even then, she could be stubborn about it. Xinyi did not suggest employees leave the worksite early. He glanced at the sink full of dirty dishes. She certainly would never suggest an employee leave when their work was not done. “Chris, nǐ yě qù.” (You go too.)

Both employees exchanged a look, recognizing the strangeness. 

“Go. Go.” She insisted in heavily accented English. “Young people should enjoy their Friday night! Get a girlfriend. Get a boyfriend. Get one of each!”

She stood from where she was going over the books and practically pushed them both to the employee lounge –a semi-large closet off the kitchen- where they stowed their personal belongings. 

“Use the front door. I’ll lock up behind you.” She informed them. 

It didn’t take Chris long to get ready to leave. All she had to do was take her apron off and throw his jacket on over her nice white waiter’s shirt. Warren, on the other hand, preferred to change out of his bleach stained tank top and put on a clean shirt. And considering that his normal outfit was not one shirt but two or three (long sleeves under a regular tee, fire users liked to be warm) this process could take a while. Chris waited for him though, so that Xinyi would only have to lock up once. 

He was already moving to the exit when he threw his backpack over his shoulder. 

Chris and Xinyi were waiting for him by the front door. The older woman said ‘good night’ to both of them and wished them a safe trip home. Then slammed the door shut behind them before either Warren or Chris would repeat the same to her. 

“That was weird.” Warren commented. 

He and Chris weren’t, like, friend-friends. But they were work-friends. They were close in age and worked in the same restaurant. Warren knew she had a dog because Chris asked him to cover a shift once when she had to rush said dog to the VCA because it ate ‘something that looked like chocolate’. Chris knew Warren had a mother because she came in to pick up his paychecks when he was having his mysterious ‘personal emergencies’ that he never explained to anyone. 

“They probably came early this month because Aunty was a little short last month.” Chris commented as if there was other background information Warren already knew.

Warren did not already know what she was talking about and he blinked at her. “What?”

Chris just blinked back at him. “Wait, you don’t know?”

“Know what?” Now Warren was getting suspicious. His hero-instincts telling him something less than legitimate was going on here, and those ‘insurance guys’ were not actual claims adjusters sent by a licensed insurance agency.

Throwing her arms up, as if in surrender, Chris back up a few paces. “Ya know what, you’re better off not knowing.” She said. “And we’re better off not being around here.”

She crossed the parking lot to her car –an old relic of a sedan from 2002- slid into the passenger seat, and peeled out of the parking lot as if the devils themselves were chasing her. 

Warren glanced in the direction of his bus stop. Considering taking Chris’ advice and just leaving. But, something in the back of his mind told him not to. Some feeling in his gut that told him a superhero might be needed tonight. 

Instead of heading to his bus stop, Warren slunk around to the large dumpster bin behind the building. Using it so shield him from sight, he pulled his Phoenix costume out of his backpack. 

A skintight body suit. Mostly black, but with the emblem of a bird splayed across the chest in red, the wings curling over his shoulders, and turning into red stripes down his arms. The black gloves had corresponding red on them that continued the stripe down to the tips of his middle and ring fingers. The mask was liquid latex and adhered to his face with a skin-safe costume glue. 

Stuffing his regular civilian clothes into the back pack in the costume’s place, Phoenix emerged. Ready to fight the good fight and be a hero!

Keeping to the edge of the building, Phoenix slunk up to the nearest kitchen window to peer inside. Get a feel for the situation. 

“Tīngzhe, yěxǔ wǒ zhīqián bù tài qīngchǔ.” (Listen, maybe I wasn’t clear before.) A man Phoenix had never seen in the restaurant before was saying. “Cānguǎn shì wéixiǎn de shēngyì. Shénme shìqíng dōu kěnéng fāshēng. Méiqì xièlòu, huǒzāi, rénshēn shānghài... Dànshì wǒmen kěyǐ bǎohù nǐ. Wèntí shì, bǎohù bùshì miǎnfèi de.” (A restaurant is a dangerous business. Anything could happen. Gas leaks, fires, personal injury… But we can protect you. The problem is, protection doesn’t come free.)

That was about all Phoenix needed to hear. He knew what this was and what was going on here. 

It was a protection racket. 

That guy was a representative of an organization that was exploiting the Sus. They called it ‘protection’ but the only thing the payments ‘protected’ business owners from was retaliation from the Collector. If they didn’t pay, the Collectors would vandalize the property, injure the owners, or even destroy the business all together. It was exactly the kind of thing Phoenix became a hero to stop! The Lieutenant could fly around in the sunlight and rescue kittens from trees, but Phoenix actually hit the streets with the dirt and grit of the city. 

The window Phoenix was looking through was a bit small, but from his vantage point, it looked like the Collector was circling the kitchen with faux casualness. He picked up a greasy dishtowel from the laundry bin, twirling it in his hand as he walked. The other hand gliding over the appliances. 

But he paused when he got to the stove. 

He turned on one of the burners. Turned the flame on full blast. So that it wasn’t just the normal blue of the gas, but climbed above the grill with tongues of yellow fire. 

“Zhèxiē gōngyè lúzǐ biàn rèle...” (These industrial stoves get so hot…) He was saying. Then grabbed Xinyi’s husband and slammed his head down on the stove dangerously close to the burning grill. “Yǒurén kěnéng huì bèi shāo sǐ!” (Someone could get burned!)

That was all Phoenix needed to see. This wasn’t just idle threats and demands for payment. This was very real threats of bodily harm backed up by physical assault. Dashing from the window, Phoenix yanked the kitchen door open. 

The Collector looked up startled. 

Phoenix took advantage of his hesitation. Extending one arm out in front of him, he reached out with his pyrokinetic power, took control of the open flame and called it to his outstretched hand. Pulling the fire away from the stove, but more importantly, the face of an innocent civilian. 

The Collector shouted an expletive that Phoenx had never heard before and didn’t know how to translate, but was sure was very rude. 

“Shìfàng tā!” (Let him go!) Phoenix ordered the protection Collector. 

He did let his would-be victim up. But still held onto him, twisting one of the hostage’s arms behind his back. “Tuìsuō, chāojí! Zhè shì sān hé huì de lǐngtǔ, tāmen bùzàihū nín shìfǒu yǒngyǒu lìliàng.” (Back off, Super! This here is Triad territory and they don't care if you've got powers.)

“Dànshì, nǐ yǒu quánlì ma?” (But do you have powers?) Phoenix asked. This guy might be working for the Triad but, at the moment, he was just one guy alone. He was here, and the rest of the Chinese Mafia was not. 

He must have realized this the moment Phoenix asked the question, because his face suddenly flashed with concern. Eyes moving quickly, taking stock of the situation. There was a super blocking the kitchen door. The only other exit was the main entrance on the opposite end of the dining room. It was a bit of a distance. But he had a hostage. And if this super was a hero –not likely considering the black costume- then he would do everything he could to protect the hostage. If this super was a villain on the competition’s payroll –more likely since he was dressed almost all in black- then he was probably trying to set up his own Protection racket in this neighborhood and would want to protect the hostage because it meant protecting his own interests and the interests of his employers. 

“Wǒ yǒu méiyǒu quánlì dōu méiguānxì.” (It doesn’t matter if I have powers to not.) Collector Informed him. He groped around the stove top and counter, and grabbed the first thing his hand touched. An unwashed cleaver, one of the dishes Warren hadn’t yet cleaned before Xinyi kicked him out. “Nǐ huì ràng wǒ bù shòu shānghài de zǒuchū zhèlǐ. Fǒuzé zhèlǐ de lǎorén tài guā húzile!”(You’re gonna let me walk out of here unmolested. Or else the old man here is gonna get too close a shave!)

Xinyi’s husband began sputtering so fast, Phoenix could barely even catch the words, never mind translate them. Phoenix tried to reassure him, speaking in calming tones.

It didn’t work very well. Phoenix was still a relatively new hero –only in operation for a year- and the media tended to overlook him in favor of featuring more palatable and marketable heroes like the Lieutenant. The result being that no one was even instantly put at ease by Phoenix’s presence, not like they were for the Lieutenant- and, in fact, most people didn’t even realize he was a hero at all. Most people just saw the black costume and assumed he was another villain. 

That, and people held hostage with cleavers to their throats were not calmed so easily. 

He was sputtering and sobbing so much, in fact, that it actually became a bit of a distraction for the one holding him. The Collector took his eyes off of Phoenix to scold his hostage. Giving the other man a shake, the hand holding the cleaver unconsciously relaxing the blade away from the neck. 

It was all the opening the fire wielder needed. 

The whited out eye sockets of his mask narrowed as he focused his attention on the metal. Channeling his power through his hands was easier. But his ability was to create fire, there was no rule that the fire he created had to start on his body. He could burn anything. 

Or, in this case, heat anything. 

Anything, like the handle of the cleaver the Collector was holding. 

The man yelped in mingled shock and pain. Dropping the cleaver where it clattered loudly on the kitchen floor. 

Collector released his hostage, cradling his hand instead. The palm was red all over and blistering in some places. A second degree burn. 

“Rúguǒ wǒ shì nǐ, wǒ huì kàn yīxià.” (I’d get that look at if I were you.) Phoenix informed him. “Shāoshāng tèbié róngyì gǎnrǎn. Nǐ bù huì xiǎng yào de.” (Burns are particularly susceptible to infection. You wouldn't want that.)

“一块狗屎火混蛋!”Collector snarled, then ran out the front. 

Phoenix did not follow him. 

Instead, he helped Xinyi’s husband up from where he’d fallen when the Collector released him. “Nǐ hái hǎo ma?” (Are you okay?)

“Wǒ hěn hǎo, xièxiè nǐ, Warren.” (I’m fine, thank you, Warren.) He managed between gasps. He was breathing hard. Not yet coming down from his panic. 

“Wǒ hěn gāoxìng nǐ méiyǒu shòushāng- …uh…” (I’m glad you weren’t injur- uh…) Phoenix froze, the older man’s words catching up with him. “Uh…Wǒ de yìsi shì, shéi shì Warren? Wǒ de míngzì shì Phoenix.” (Uh… I mean, who’s Warren? My name is Phoenix.)

The older man just stared at him, as if not understanding. 

Xinyi knelt next to her husband, but it was Phoenix she was looking at when she said in English. “We have been putting up with your American accent for four years. Do you think we won’t recognize you just because we can’t see your eyebrows?”

“Uh…” Was all Phoenix could think to repeat. He hadn’t counted on people he knew personally recognizing him in costume. They never covered this in school! “Uh…”

“Is this why you’ve had so many ‘personal emergencies’ lately?” She asked, hauling her husband back to his feet. 

“Uh…” Phoenix’s brain seemed to have stopped working. 

Xinyi blinked at him for a moment longer before realizing that this was just as shocking for him as it was for them. But Xinyi was a practical woman, she gave the poor boy the time he needed to process while she helped guide her husband out of the kitchen and into the dining room. She deposited him in the very first booth off the kitchen and went back in to get him a glass of water. 

Warren, or ‘Phoenix’ was still sitting on the floor at a bit of a loss of what to do. 

“That man worked for the Triad.” She informed him, continuing to speak in English because she wasn’t sure if his over-stressed brain could handle another language at the moment. “They used to only collect from us twice a year. It’s only recently they’ve been coming every month. We’ve tried to keep up with the payments, but- …people just aren’t eating out as much as they used to.”

Clearing his throat, trying to reclaim some version of ‘heroic dignity’, Phoenix finally stood from the kitchen floor. Pushing himself to his feet slowly. “Would- would the Collector actually have burned Mr. Su’s face?”

Xinyi just gave him a sad little look. “You haven’t been in costume for very long, have you. The Mobs –all of the Mobs, not just the Chinese- do things far worse than just disfiguring faces.”

Phoenix bit his bottom lip. “I’m glad I was here.”

“I’m not.” Xinyi announced, sounding genuinely upset with him. She glanced back to the dining room to see if her husband was listening. He was shaking a little, still coming down from the adrenaline of what had just happened. He wasn’t paying attention to them. And even if he were, his English was not as good as hers. Xinyi turned her attention back to the young –and inexperienced- hero in front of her. “A disfiguring or a maiming is bad and would require a rush to the hospital. There would be a bill, and a scar. But that would be it. Now, because of you, the Collector is going to report back to his employer and the Triad will retaliate.”

Her tone implied that said retaliation would be much worse than personal injury. 

Xinyi filled a glass of water and brought it out to her husband. 

His hand shook as he took it, but his voice was even and clear when he spoke. “Zhè shì yīn wéi láizì xiānggǎng de liánjūn zhèng shìtú zài zhèlǐ jiànlì jīdì.” (It’s because the Luen Triad is trying to set up a base here.) He informed them. “Song zǔ-wǒmen dāngdì de hēishǒu dǎng-xūyào gèng duō zīyuán cáinéng jiāng qí chè chū.” (The Song Triad, our local mob, needs more resources to push them back out.) 

“Nǐ bù zhīdào.” (You don’t know that.) Xinyi reminded him. “Bù quèdìng.” (Not for sure.) 

Deciding it was best not to argue with this wife, the man only shrugged and sipped more of his water. 

“So, it’s a gang-war.” Phoenix asked. “Between our local Mob, and one from out of town. And you’re caught in the middle.”

Setting his glass of water down, Mr. Su launched into a long speech. Speaking very quickly and using a slightly more formal variation of the dialect Phoenix wasn’t as familiar with. It was hard to follow. 

“He says it’s more like the feudal system.” Xinyi took pity on the poor costumed hero. “We’re not so much caught in the middle, as we are peasants being taxed by a Lord to fund their war.” She gave her husband an affectionate smile. “He used to be a professor of history before we left Beijing.”

Phoenix nodded, understanding. They were not ‘caught in the middle’ in the sense that the gang-war was over them in particular, they were ‘caught in the middle’ because they were being squeezed tighter to make sure the local Mob maintained control instead of being replaced by this new faction that was trying to muscle in. 

“In any event,” he began again, summarizing for himself more than them. Making sure he understood the situation. “The problem's not with the Triad itself, but the turf war between Maxville’s local Mob, and this other one from out of town.”


	3. Partnering Up

“…Okay. But I’m telling you, the Broker isn’t gonna be here.” Flamebird was saying as she set Phoenix down on the sidewalk. 

For a person whom was supposed to be ‘retired’ from superhero work, she sure did seem to be spending a lot of time in costume lately. (Usually just to give her son rides all over town and the surrounding area, since she could fly and he could not.) She landed on the sidewalk next to him and waved at the bouncer whom was just setting up outside the door. Apparently, she recognized him. 

Phoenix just peered at her skeptically from behind his mask. “The owner of a night club is not going to be at the night club that they own on a Saturday, the biggest business day for night clubs.”

“A. You know as well as I do, that Divide is just a front for the Broker’s real business, because it’s the real business that you’re here for.” His mother reminded him. “B. They have people to run their front business for them, they don’t need to be here all the time. C. It’s Saturday. It’s God’s day.”

“I thought that was supposed to be Sunday.” Phoenix rolled his eyes, assuming his mother was making a joke that he just didn’t get. 

“Well, for the Wechslers, it’s Saturday.” Flamebird walked up to the bouncer whom had been watching them from the door. “Gate, you old-so-and-so, you still workin’ here!”

“Is that Flamebird!?” He smiled at her, looking her up and down. Noting just how tight the costume she wore really was. A full body suit in shades of yellow and orange. High collared, long sleeved, and long legged. The sleeves tucked into her gloves, the tights tucked into her boots. Every inch of her below the throat was covered. Yet, the thing was so tight and form fitting it might as well have been painted on. “Damn, Chula, you really holdin’ it together. Lookin’ fine!”

“Flirt.” She teased him, all smiles. She beckoned to Phoenix to come join them. “This is my son, Phoenix.”

The bouncer, Gate, was far less animated and enthusiastic when meeting Flamebird’s son. He offered the younger man a nod and a half-hearted, “Hey, man.” Then his eyes went right back to Flamebird. “So, what can I do for you?”

“I need to see the Broker.” Phoenix announced. 

“Then come back tomorrow.” Gate replied without hesitation. 

Next to him, Phoenix could practically feel his mother thinking ‘I told you so’, but she didn’t say it out loud. Flamebird understood the importance of two superheroes working together appearing as one unified front. If Phoenix wanted to ignore her advice and waste everyone’s time and delay his own case, that was his choice, and his own lesson to learn. 

“I need to see the Broker today.” Phoenix insisted. “I need information, and I’ve been told the Broker knows everything that goes on in this city.”

“Well, the Broker ain’t here.” Gate informed him. “So, if it’s info on the city you need, try the tourist welcome center they got in City Hall.”

Again, Flamebird did not say ‘I told you so’. But she did shift the weight on her feet and fold her arms behind her back. Assuming a more comfortable position to observe from. Phoenix was her only child and she loved him, but she also loved watching a male colleague who ignored her advice get put in his place. 

“It’s about the Triads!” Phoenix snapped, maybe a bit louder than was practical for an open city sidewalk in the early evening where people passing by could clearly overhear. He moderated his volume when he explained. “Maxville’s own Song Triad and the Luen from Hong Kong.”

Gate turned to look at Flamebird. “Damn, Chula, only in tights barely a year and already little ijo’s getting mixed up in some hardcore shit!”

Flamebird only shrugged. 

Truth be told, if she had things her way, Phoenix wouldn’t be going up against the Chinese Mafia. If Flamebird had things her way, Phoenix wouldn’t be in the city at all. If she had things her way, they would have all run away together a year ago when her husband –Phoenix’s father- was escaped from prison. One year ago, they were reunited, and it was great! A wild night of unlikely team-ups, decisive battles, emotional rollercoasters, and new powers. When it was all said and done, Flamebird suggested they all run away. Don’t turn Barron back in to the authorities, let’s just go. All three of us. We can still be a family. We don’t have to be heroes. 

But Phoenix refused to go. Phoenix did not want to aid a fugitive from the law. Phoenix did not want to become a fugitive himself. He did not want to become… a supervillain. 

And Barron Battle understood that. He knew that if he and his wife ran, neither of them would ever get to see their son again. If they ever did see each other, Phoenix would have to arrest them. Instead of putting him –and themselves- in that position, Battle turned himself in. Went back to jail quietly. Allowed himself to be taken away from his family a second time. 

Because Phoenix chose not to run with them. 

Flamebird loved her son, but she would also never forgive him that. 

Barron respected his choice not to become a supervillain, so Flamebird would respect his choice to get himself tangled up in a turf war between two powerful criminal organizations. 

Gate turned back to Phoenix and informed him, “The Broker really ain’t here. She goes to temple on Saturdays. So if it’s mob stuff ya want, and you ain’t willin’ to wait, then maybe you should ask the cops.” A pause. “Ain’t all you tights-wearin’ goody-goodies tight with the cops anyway? Why you comin’ here?”

Because the Broker wasn’t a hero or police, the Broker played both sides of the field. They claimed to be neutral. Neither hero or villain. Instead, acting as ‘middle man’ between them. The Broker found jobs for supers and supers for jobs. They also employed a handful of supers called the Web that could communicate with each other telepathically over almost any distance. Each member of the Web was set up on some significant position in Maxville. In City Hall as the Mayor’s Aid, in Maxville General, in the District Attorney’s office, in Maxville Penitentiary… nothing went on in Maxville without the Broker knowing about it. 

Also, when Barron Battle was temporarily out of Max Pen, he personally introduced Phoenix to the Broker and told him that if he needed anything at all, that he should go to the Broker. 

But he was also under a time crunch. He wanted to know who the significant players were in both organization before one or the other decided to go after the Paper Lantern again. 

Growling a wordless growl of frustration, Phoenix turned and stomped away. 

Flamebird smiled at Gate, not exactly an apologetic smile. She was not sorry for her son’s bad attitude. More of a shallow, flirty smile. Just the corners of her lips curling upwards. “Good seeing you again, Gate.”

“Hey, Chula, when you gonna come my way?” He asked. “I need someone to keep me warm at night.”

“Sorry. Still married.” She laughed as she glided off her feet and caught up to her son. Hooking her hands under Phoenix’s arms, she lifted them both into the air. “So, I think the Eight-Six is considered the ‘Chinatown precinct’.” 

It was the precinct located in Chinatown. 

“They don’t know me there.” Phoenix shook his head. 

As Gate had so kindly reminded him, Phoenix hadn’t been a superhero for very long. He was still relatively fresh out of school and basically unknown. He did not make big news like Persephone overseas, fighting famine in Africa, or combatting deforestation in South America. And he did not hang out with the Commander and gain media favor simply by associating with an established hero, like the Lieutenant did. Since superheroes operated outside of law enforcement, most law enforcement was hesitant to collaborate with heroes that did not have established reputations. 

“Precinct One is right next to City Hall.” Phoenix informed her. “They did security last year when the Commander debuted the Lieutenant and the rest of us after that thing with Faultline. They’ll probably be willing to work with me.”

“Ya know, I had a fairly good working relationship with a lot of the precincts in East Ridge.” Flamebird informed him. “And that’s closer to Chinatown than City Hall.”

“You do realize that all police share the same database and so I can access their files from any precinct in the city, right?” Phoenix reminded her. 

“Yes, but then you miss out on the human aspect.” Flamebird reminded him. The uniforms and detectives of a precinct closer to a particular organization’s operations would have a better general understanding of the situations beyond what the casefiles would say. Then she smiled, a teasing smile she reserved only for when something was going to make her son uncomfortable and she knew it. “You just don’t wanna be the hero who hangs out at precinct sixty-nine!”

“Six-Nine!” Phoenix snarled, cheeks burning red under his mask. “It’s the Six-Nine. Not sixty-nine!”

“Do you want to benefit from my years of experience as a superhero or not?” She asked him. “Trust me. I know my way around a sixty-nine.”

Phoenix made a sound that he was not going to call a sob. No matter how much it sounded like a sob. “You mean the Sixty-Nine, right, Mom. ‘The’, not ‘a’. Mom? Mom!?”

Flamebird did not answer. She just flew them over the city. 

Back in the 80s, and maybe well into the 90s too, East Ridge was a nice middle-income neighborhood. In the early 2000s as the economy declined and the Middle Class began to disappear, East Ridge also fell into decline. Now it was just one step above Max Adj. A ‘lower income’ area. 

Flambird landed on the roof of precinct Six-Nine. Crossing the roof, she tried the roof access door. It was unlocked. 

“It’s nice that they still leave this open for me.” She commented. 

“Or they leave it unlocked so officers can come out here to take smoke breaks.” Phoenix suggested an alternative. He found it hard to believe that a police precinct would leave access to their base unlocked and unguarded just on the off chance than an over-the-hill superhero that used to be semi-attractive back in her prime would waltz into their building. 

“I wonder if O’Rynn is still Captain.” Flamebird mused aloud. “He used to have the biggest crush on me, ya know. Your father always hated him.”

“Because he would cat-call you in costume, or because he was a police Captain and Dad is a supervillain?” Phoenix asked as he followed his mother down the stairs. Admittedly, Phoenix only had a child’s memory of his father, but he could not recall Barron Battle being the jealous type. He could, however, very easily imagine Barron Battle, the professional supervillain and international mercenary, disliking a ranking officer of the law. 

Flamebird only shrugged. “Two things can be true.” Apparently, she liked the idea of men fighting over her. “Your father tried not to let it show around you when he was angry. He had bad experiences with his own father’s temper and wanted to shield you from having any of your own.”

“Temper? Or bad experiences?” 

“Bad experiences.” Flamebird clarified. “You inherited my temper. The standard issue fire-wielder temper.”

They got to the bull pen floor. Everyone looked up when two costumes walked in from the stairwell. Most of them recognized Flamebird. She hadn’t been active in a while, but back when she was active, East Ridge was her main territory within the city. It was hard to be an East Ridge cop and not know who Flamebird was. The black-clad one that followed her, however, none of them recognized. Was he a supervillain she was bringing in? He was dressed almost all in black. But why wasn’t he cuffed? 

“Hey!” Flamebird smiled and gave a little wave to the room at large. 

The supervillain looking one behind her placed his face in his palm. Apparently, he was embarrassed by her. 

“Is the Captain in?” She asked. 

A couple of confused and mildly dazed detectives pointed vaguely to the Captain’s office. 

“Thanks.” Flamebird smile. “C’mon, Phoenix.”

She led her tall, dark, and broody companion across the bull pen to the office. Opening the door without knocking, she went in and dragged him after her. 

There was an old man wearing a Captain’s uniform sitting at the desk. White haired and balding. A little overweight from a lifestyle combination of stress-eating and a lack of exercise. He looked up when Flamebird barged in, and his expression of annoyance at being disturbed melted into one of pleasant surprise upon recognizing the intruder as her. 

He smiled, showing coffee and cigar stained teeth. “I was wondering when you’d come back my way.” Then his eyes drifted to Phoenix. “Who’s this? New supervillain? You make an arrest? That’s our Flamebird, still keeping up with all these kid-heroes!”

Phoenix grumbled something incoherent under his breath. 

Flamebird gave a shallow laugh. A clear chime that sounded happy, like a real laugh, but the smile did not reach her eyes. (Her real laugh was much more nasal and always included at least one –usually more- thick snorts.) “No. This is my son, Phoenix.” She told the Captain. “Phoenix, this is Captain O’Rynn. Say ‘hi’, boys.”

“Hi, boys.” Both men deadpanned at the same time. 

“Hey, look at that, you both have the exact same sense of humor!” Flamebird smiled, a real smile this time. She was amused. “Anyway, Phoenix is working a case and was wondering if he could borrow some of your officers’ knowledge and experience.”

“For you, Flamebird, of course!” Captain O’Rynn was all smiles for her. “We should get a drink some time, you and I. Have a night out.”

She laughed again. That same fake chime, this one with a scathing undertone that only Phoenix was able to catch because he knew what to listen for. “I’m still married.”

“So am I.” O’Rynn shot back, not deterred. 

“You’re so bad, O’Rynn.” Flamebird teased, giggling like a teenager. 

Phoenix pinched the nose-bridge of his mask. He knew his mother was a very capable superhero. He inherited his pyrokinetic power from her, and she was the one who taught him how to control and use it. School sure as hell didn’t teach him that. But her impressive superpowers, and her competence as a hero were not the hooks that allowed her to gain favor as a semi-popular and well-known superhero. She had been a female hero trying to make a name for herself in the 80s, and the only ways for a woman to break into the ‘boys club’ that was superhero’ing back then was to either partner up with an already popular male hero (like Jetstream did with the Commander), or market her sexuality to appeal to her audience. Flamebird went with the latter method. 

When she was still in her mid-twenties and early thirties, it was fine. But Flamebird was forty-seven now, almost fifty. Not only had she had a child, but said child was grown up and old enough to be breaking into the superhero industry on his own. She was too old to be teasing and flirting like a ditzy pin-up model. 

That, and watching his mother flirt with overtly sexual overtones made Phoenix extremely uncomfortable. 

O’Rynn cleared his throat, turning his attention to Phoenix. “What can I do for you, son?” Phoenix hated being called ‘son’. Even his real Dad didn’t call him ‘son’. “Shop-lifter got away from ya?”

Developing an immediate dislike for this O’Rynn guy, and suppressing the impulse to growl like he used to growl at the Lieutenant and the other in the early days, Phoenix crossed the office and leaned his fists on the Captain’s desk. “I need information on the Song Triad.” He deadpanned. “And the Luen Triad from Hong Kong that’s trying to move in.”

Blinking, O’Rynn leaned back in his seat. That was not the kind of request he was expecting from the son of Flamebird. 

Flamebird used to pose for pinup magazines and calendars. She flirted, and smiled, and flew around flashing her ass at the city. (He utterly and completely forgot that Flamebird also waded through six miles of the city’s sewers to apprehend Alligator Man, lead rescue and relief teams when the city was snowed in during the Ice Villain Alliance of ’86, and saved countless people from building fires ever. Damn. Summer.) O’Rynn did not imagine the son of Flamebird doing any real –serious- casework. 

“Oh.” The old man’s mouth might have been hanging open. “Oh, uh, you’re working a mob case.”

“I am.” Phoenix nodded. “Can you help me, and we can maintain the same working relationship you cultivated with my mother,” it pained him to phrase it like that, Phoenix did not want creepy old people flirting with him, “or should I take my inquiries to the Eight-Six and make them my partner-precinct.”

Every police precinct in Maxville wanted a superhero to partner with them. It was a documented fact, that precincts that were partnered with a superhero had consistently higher numbers of closed cases, with lower rates of wrongful arrests than precincts that did not partner with a resident superhero. Since Flamebird was –officially- retired, the Six-Nine now no longer had a resident hero. Within the last six month alone, their crime statistics had already taken a very noticeable dip. Captain O’Rynn wanted a new hero to set up camp in his precinct. 

O’Rynn blinked at Phoenix again, but he reached a hand to the intercom on his desk. “Dena, send Kavanagh in here.”

There was a pause.

Then the door to the Captain’s office opened again. 

Another old man entered. “You wanted to see me, Cap?” Then, noticing Flamebird. “Hey, Toots, good seeing you again. Like to see more of you like in the old days.” (Flamebird’s original costume showed a lot of leg and a lot of ass.)

Academically, Phoenix knew his mother could handler her own obnoxious admirers. She had, in fact, been handling them since before he was born. But something about this guy just rubbed Phoenix the wrong way. They hadn’t even been in the same room for a full minute yet, and yet, some base instinct in the back of his mind told Phoenix that this guy was not the kind of animal he wanted around his herd. (Maybe he’d been spending too much time in the woods looking for Paladin, for his brain to think of people in terms like ‘animal’ and ‘herd’.)

Flamebird said that Battle didn’t like O’Rynn, but Phoenix didn’t like this guy. 

He didn’t realize he was growling until all eyes were staring at him. 

“Who’s this? New villain? Why’s he not cuffed?” Asked the newcomer. 

“Detective Kavanagh, meet Phoenix, Flamebird’s son.” O’Rynn introduced them. “Phoenix, this is Chet Kavanagh, my best detective.”

“You’re shitting me!” Kavanagh looked to Flamebird, then to Phoenix, then back to Flamebird. “And all this time I thought you were too hot to touch. Damn! Who’s the lucky mother-fucker who got to brave those fires!? Was it Wraith? It was Wraith, wasn’t it. That’s why Junior here’s wearing all black. That guy also always dresses like a villain.”

“Wraith, ew, no!” Flamebird exclaimed. “He doesn’t talk! It’s impossible to have a conversation with him!”

“I mean, you don’t really need to talk to get pregnant.” Kavanagh reminded her. “There are so many other things to do with your mouth, anyway…”

Phoenix didn’t realize just how embarrassed and downright uncomfortable he was until his ears burst into –literal- flames. “Okay! Everybody not talking about my mom having sex gets to stay in this office! Everybody else has to go outside!” He shouted, louder than he needed to. 

“Damn, Toots, Junior over here’s a little high strung.” Kavanagh snickered. Not intimidated by Phoenix’s display of fire-wielder temper at all. Apparently, the detectives of the Six-Nine were used to fire-super tempers. 

“He’s just really focused on his case.” Flamebird soothed. Though, it was unclear just who in the room she was supposed to be soothing. “He hasn’t learned the art of harmless banter yet.”

Kavanagh turned back to Phoenix. “Aw, Junior’s working a case? That’s so cute! Did ya lose a purse-snatcher, kiddo?”

Phoenix suppressed another growl. “I just need info on the Chinese Triads.”

And he did not want to be talked down to like he was still some naïve child, or be confronted with how much people wanted to fuck his mom. It was not funny ‘harmless banter’, it was just gross and creepy. 

Kavanagh’s mouth fell open and the room fell silent. “Oh.” He said. “That’s why you called me in.”

Behind his desk, Captain O’Rynn rested his elbows and steepled his fingers. “Detective Kavanagh used to work the Eight-Six.” He explained. “He’s very familiar with the Song.”

“Look, kid,” Kavanagh began again, speaking to Phoenix and sounding like he might actually be taking him seriously, “I get it. You’re young, and you feel like you can do anything. You got all these superpowers us mundanes don’t have and that gives you an inflated sense of confidence. But you don’t wanna get mixed up with the Songs, trust me. They are bad news.”

There were shadows behind his eyes when he spoke. Not unlike the shadows Phoenix saw in his father’s eyes whenever Phoenix tried to get him to discuss his trauma. And, just like Barron Battle, Kavanagh’s warning was too vague to be helpful and only succeeded in making Phoenix frustrated. What was it with all these old men who came of age in the seventies being unable to just say what they meant? Was it a generational thing?

“You think the Luen would be any better?” Phoenix asked. 

For half a moment, Kavanagh looked startled. Phoenix actually surprised him. He wasn’t expecting this new, young, and utterly green kid to actually know something of the situation. Kavanagh gave a half-hearted and utterly humorless laugh. “Huh. Well, I guess you’re not dumb.”

“No. I’m not.” Phoenix nodded. “And I’m more capable than you think.”


	4. Boss Sidao

Detective Kavanagh’s car smelled of cigarette ash and stale air. Phoenix might be a superhero with fire-based powers, but that did not mean that he actually liked the smell of burned tobacco and –whatever other garbage was in cigarettes. Sitting in the passenger seat of Kavanagh’s car, Phoenix rolled down the window to let some fresh air in. 

A freight truck just happened to be passing them on the right and it sent a jet of diesel exhaust wafting in Phoenix’s face, but even that was better than Kavanagh’s stale cigarettes. 

“Roll the window back up.” Kavanagh ordered. “You look like a villain and I don’t wanna have to explain why you’re upfront instead of in the back like a perp.”

Turning his head, Phoenix just looked at him. Any criminal that thought it was strange was someone they would not have to explain themselves to, and any fellow law enforcement would need the explanation that, no, Phoenix was not a supervillain. Yes, his costume was mostly black, but he was a superhero. 

Instead, Phoenix asked, “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to the bar where all the Song guys hang out.” Answered Kavanagh. 

Phoenix looked back out the window. They were driving down Man of Steel boulevard which ran between Chinatown and Chiquito Oaxaca. The hero would have assumed they would be heading into Chinatown, not skirting around the edges. 

Kavanagh pulled into a vacant lot with chalk marks dividing it up into parking spaces. It could not have been a legal parking lot. But it was next to a bar. Kavanagh got out and made his way to the entrance. Phoenix unbuckled his belt and sprinted to catch up to the old detective. 

There was a bouncer at the door, and he was carding people. There was no way Kavanagh could have been mistaken for a teenager trying to sneak into a bar. In fact, he looked old enough to be the bouncer’s dad. The bouncer still scrutinized his badge and corresponding ID, taking note of the badge number and shining a black-light on the IC card that went with it. He waved Kavanagh inside. 

Then he tried to card Phoenix. 

“Seriously?” Asked the younger man. (Phoenix was still only twenty. He was just a few months too young to be allowed to walk into a bar –as Warren Peace. If a superhero, in full costume, was walking into a bar, presumably they were there for some kind of hero work, and not to get drunk. The drinking age should not be relevant.) 

“Supervillains still get carded.” Announced the bouncer. (Supervillains have been known to go to bars in full costume with the expressed purpose of getting shit-faced and hooking up with random strangers in the bathroom.) 

Kavanagh placed a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. But it was the bouncer he spoke to. “It’s okay, the kid’s with me.”

“You finally gone dirty?” Asked the bouncer. 

“Ha! I wish!” The detective’s laugh was utterly humorless. “Maybe then I wouldn’t’ve had to take out a third mortgage and my second wife wouldn’t have left me.”

The bouncer laughed. Amused at the casual attitude the detective took to his troubles. He waved them both inside. 

Phoenix hadn’t been in many bars. After the big earthquake last year, his father took him inside Divide, a dance club owned by a neutral-super called the Broker. Since his father’s return to prison, Phoenix –as Warren- had to pick his mother up from a couple of bars after she just went out to ‘blow off some steam’ and then Warren had to come pick her up because she drank too much and the bartender found him listed as her emergency contact in her phone. 

He didn’t know what to expect when he walked in. 

Divide had been a shambles after the quake. It didn’t really look much like a business, let alone a bar or club. There had been a dance floor, a stage, and a bar counter. And there were fallen lights and cables strewn across the floor. The bars he picked his mother up from had low lighting, tight tables arranged close together, pool tables, and either sports team memorabilia, car parts, or hunting trophies decorating the walls. 

This bar also had low lighting, a bar counter, a small stage, and cluttered décor on the walls. But the tables were more spread out, so much so that if people spoke in hushed voices, no one at the table next to them would be able to hear over the music. The décor on the walls a mixture of Chinese and Mexican (not necessarily Oaxacan), all of it the stereotypical kinds of items that would pander to tourists. There was a serape hung on one wall with a Chinese straw hat over it. Above the bar was a serpentine dragon, but in its claw instead of the traditional gem, or globe, or crystal, was instead a soccer ball with the El Tri logo branded on it. 

Phoenix could not help looking around, trying to take it all in. Even with the mask covering his face, he looked like a wide-eyed child. 

Kavanagh grabbed Phoenix by the arm and dragged him to the bar counter. 

“Hey, Rigo.” 

The bartender –Rigo- looked up, recognized Kavanagh, heaved a sigh of exasperation and went back to wiping down the counter. Slowly, he made his way over to the detective and the super. “Ain’t you retired yet?”

Kavanagh ignored the question. “I’m looking for Sid.”

Rigo laughed. “You think Sid’ll talk to you? What possible leverage could you have to even barter with to get a meet with Sid?”

“None.” The detective admitted. He grabbed Phoenix and pulled him closer to the bar. “But I do have someone Sid will want to meet with.”

Looking him up and down, Rigo did not seem impressed. “Some new supervillain? Sorry, Sid’s interested in solutions, not new problems.”

“I’m not a supervillain.” Phoenix growled.

Rigo did not look the least bit convinced. He just gave Phoenix a tired, unamused look. “If you don’t want people thinking you’re a villain, then you shouldn’t dress like a villain.” 

Behind his mask, Phoenix rolled his eyes. He was getting real sick of people commenting on his choice of costume. Idly, he wondered how many snap assumptions and unsolicited comments his mother got back when she was his age and wearing her fist superhero costume with short-shorts that showed off her butt-cheeks. 

Popping the cap off a bottle of some foreign beer, Rigo leaned against the bar. He took a sip. “And why would Sid wanna meet with a super that may or may not be a villain?”  
“Because this super and him have something in common.” Kavanagh informed him. “He’s also wants to push the Luen back out of town.”

Actually, Phoenix just wanted to make sure the Paper Lantern, Su Xinyi and her husband were safe. That, and the rest of the city. And if pushing the Luen out and ending the turf war between the two rival mafias was what he had to do to keep the city –and his little niche in it- safe, then that’s what he was going to do. 

Rigo blinked over his beer bottle. He did not expect that answer. He leaned back from the bar. 

“Ultimately, I would assume it’s Mama Mei he wants to talk to.” Explained Kavanagh. “But no one sees Mama Mei without going through Sid first.”

“Bù lā tè shìtú zhèngmíng tā yǒu gè dàjiā huo.” (Kid trying to prove he’s got a big dick.) Rigo muttered under his breath. 

Now it was Phoenix’s turn to lean back from the bar. Rigo did not look like the kind of person who could speak Chinese, especially not fluently enough for slang. 

“Cut the potty-mouth.” Snapped Kavanagh, not understanding a word Rigo said. 

“Wǒ bù xūyào zhèngmíng wǒ de jībā dàxiǎo.” Phoenix replied, leaning back against the bar, making eye-contact with Rigo. “Wǒ zhǐshì zài zuò rènhé zhídé tā de miànjù chāojí yīngxióng zuò de shìqíng.” (I’m just doing what any superhero worth his mask would do.)

Rigo stared at him. He didn’t think Phoenix looked like the type to understand a complicated language like Chinese either. 

Kavanagh was also blinking at Phoenix, as if just seeing the superhero for the first time. He did not expect Flamebird’s son to be bi-lingual, or savy enough to banter with an informant. He expected Flamebird’s son to be, well, like Flamebird. A hot piece, in a tight costume. that was really good at showboating it up. And maybe be helpful on cases and get the collar. But not actually have a brain behind that mask. 

“Wǒ méiyǒu kàn dào qítā yīngxióng zhuīsuí bàomín.” (I don’t see any other heroes going after the mobs.) Rigo informed him. 

“Tāmen tài mángyú fātiē, wúfǎ yǔ fùqīn héyǐng.” (They’re too busy posting for photo ops with their dad.) Replied Phoenix, thinking exclusively of the Lieutenant and the Commander. As far as he could tell, Liquidator was focusing more on his education than hero work. Highlighter had the time to be a hero, but he preferred to spend it on his parents’ couch playing video games. And Scurry… was doing something… No one in their friends group really knew what she did after high school, she was very secretive about it. All they knew was that she was gainfully employed and used her powers at her job. 

Rigo laughed. Apparently, he liked this black-clad super’s view of other heroes. The Commander, Jetstream, and their son the Lieutenant might save the city from giant robots and over-sized alien monsters. But they also caused millions of dollars in property damage, crushed people’s businesses and homes, then posed for media praise when they were done. Meanwhile, tourists were getting mugged. Cashiers were still held up at gun-point. Cars were still getting jacked. Where were the Commander or his family when that was going on?

“Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ, háizi.” (I like you, Kid.) He announced. “Nǐ jiào shénme míngzì?” (What’s your name?)

“Wǒ jiào Phoenix.” (My name’s Phoenix.) He answered.   
Taking a sip from his beer, Rigo appeared to be considering the name. “Hǎo de.” (Alright.) He finally nodded. “Wǒ gàosù nǐ zài nǎlǐ gēn Sìdào jiànmiàn.” (I’ll tell you where to find Sid.)

He scribbled some instructions on a cardboard coaster and slid it across the bar to Phoenix. 

“Can you read it?” He asked in English. Rigo had written the address and instructions in Chinese (simplified characters). 

“Hěn nán ma?” (What, like it’s hard?) Phoenix smirked at him. 

Rigo smirked back. He still had made up his mind of this costumed kid as really a superhero, a supervillain, or actually one of the many neutrals that lived in the city, but he liked him. “I’ll call and tell them to expect Fènghuáng.”

A ‘phoenix’ from Chinese mythology. 

“Those two have very different cultural meanings.” Phoenix informed him. The western mythical Phoenix was vastly different from the Chinese mythical Fènghuáng. But it was better than being called a supervillain. So Phoenix just let the subject drop. “Let’s go, Kavanagh.”

“Oh, you’re calling the shots now?” The older man scoffed. But he still followed the superhero out anyway. While muttering innapropriate and racially charged comments under his breath. “Kid speaks Chinese with a Beaner and suddenly he thinks he’s the boss.”

Phoenix did not hear him. 

But Rigo did. “吃屎, puto.” He muttered at the detective’s retreating back. 

Back in Kavanagh’s car, Phoenix translated the address for the detective to drive them. This time taking them to a private gym in Chinatown. 

It was oddly empty and smelled of disinfectant. There was one long woman in the back doing squats and wearing a shirt that said ‘Training to Beat Goku’ with ‘Goku’ crossed out with fabric marker and ‘Wukong’ written in next to it. The only other person was an overly cheerful receptionist that walked out from behind the reception desk with a clipboard. 

“Nǐ hǎo, and welcome to the Lung Chao Gym. Are you existing members?” He asked, smiling in the uncomfortable way that people who worked in retail and service jobs were required to smile. A friendly, open, unassuming, and yet utterly miserable shit-eating smile that you could just tell they were screaming internally. “We actually have a premium package available for supers, unlimited 24-hour access to the spa and sauna, and the first two months are free. After the two month trial period payments may be made in cash, no credit card necessary. To protect your identity, of course.”

Phoenix just blinked behind his mask. No one had ever tried to sell him anything while in costume before. 

Next to Phoenix, Kavanagh scoffed. 

The receptionist’s eyes –and that unnerving retail smile- shifted to the detective. “We also have a very affordable senior package. It includes cardio classes for your heart, and month appointments with our nutritionist.” 

“Senior!?” Kavanagh was insulted. Never mind the fact that he actually was over the age of fifty-five and, therefore, a senior. “Listen you little-“

Phoenix stepped in and cut him off. “We’re here to see someone called Sid. He’s expecting us. Tell him Fènghuáng is here.”

The receptionist blinked in recognition, that bright retail smile melting into something more appropriate for serious buisness and contraband dealings. 

“Ah.” He looked Phoenix up and down. Tallish, easily over six feet. With long hair, straight but messy, tucked behind the ear on one side, two red streaks in the other side. The upper half of his face was covered by a mask, so it was hard to get a clear read on him. But between the shapde of his cheekbones, set of his jaw, angle of the nose, and general features that were visibile, he did not look Asian. The receptionist did not look impressed. “You shouldn’t call yourself Fènghuáng if you’re not Chinese. Some people might take offence.”

“I don’t call myself Fènghuáng.” The super informed him. “My name is Phoenix.”

“That’s better.” Nodded the receptionist. “Mr. Song will see you. This way.” He gestured. Both Phoenix and Kavanagh moved to follow him and the receptionist paused again. “No cops.” He snapped. “The supervillain only.”

Phoenix mumbled something under his breath that neither of them could make out. But if they had heard, it would have sounded like an indignant little grumble. “I’m not a supervillain.”

The receptionist lead Phoenix past the lockers rooms, showers, sauna, spa, and swimming pool. Down a narrow hallway that smelled of sweat of mildew. Finally stopping at a door marked with an Employees Only sign on it. The receptionist knocked in a unique pattern. Then waited. 

After a prolonged pause, the door was opened by a large man in a suit. Not a tack suit, or similar workout clothing that would be appropriate to wear to a gym. A black two-piece suit. Black slacks and a black bazer over a white collared shirt. No tie. The first two buttons undone displaying tattoos around his neck and on his chest. 

“Fènghuáng is here to see the boss.” Announced the receptionist. 

The man in the suit –presumably a body guard or hired muscle of some variety- looked Phoenix up and down. He probably thought the same thing the receptionist thoguht. That this white-boy had no place calling himself Fènghuáng. After a prolonged pause, he stepped back to allow Phoenix to pass. 

The Superhero stepped inside what turned out to be a relatively spartan office. Desk. Laptop computer. Free-stadning safe. File cabinets. Neutral wall art that did not illicit any kind of thought or emotion at all. A concrete floor that smelled of beach and anti-septic. 

Standing in front of the desk, leaning against it casually, his blazer thrown over their chair behind him, tie loosened and shirt unbuttoned was a man around Phoenix’s own age. 

“You must be Sid.” Behind his mask, Phoenix narrowed his eyes at him. There was something oddly familiar about the man. Like Phoenix had met him before, but he couldn’t quite place when or where. 

“Only my friends are allowed to call me ‘Sid’.” He announced. “It’s Boss Sidao, or Mr. Song to you.”

“Sidao?” Phoenix echoed. Something sparking his memory. “Song Sidao?”

“Yes…” Nodded the other man stintingly, momentarily thrown by the costumed super’s odd reaction to his name. 

Phoenix sputtered something inconprehensable. 

Song Sidao. This was Song Sidao –Sid. One of his best friends from Wātis Academy, that fancy prep-school his father sent him to. Phoenix stared at the other man with disbelief, glad for his mask hiding his shock. This was his childhood best friend. 

“Was there something I could do for you?” Sidao asked after Phoenix’s silence had dragged on uncomfortably long. “I’m a very busy man and don’t have time for wannabe supervillains clowning around on my operations.”

Finally, Phoenix cleared his throat, forcing himself to recover. “The Paper Lantern, it’s a restaurant just outside Valor Heights. It’s one of the businesses under your ‘protection’. I want you to leave it alone. No more threats or collections.” He announced. “In return, I’ll help you push the Luen back out.”

Sidao blinked at him, taken aback. He was not expecting a statement like that. Then his eyes narrowed. 

“Jin, go back outside. Make us look like a legitimate business.” He ordered the receptionist. “Lee, shut the door.” He said to the hired muscle with the tattoos. Sidao came around the desk and sat down, interlacing his fingers. “Okay, Costume, you have my attention.”

Behind him, Phoenix more felt rather than heard the muscle shut the door and place himself in front of it, blocking them in.


End file.
